Still Loved By All
by Lilith1631
Summary: Draco, Champion of Muggles, is continuing his quest to be Loved By All - sequel to LBA
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Still Loved By All

**Summary: **Draco, Champion of Muggles, is continuing his quest to be Loved By All

**Chapter One**

The dishes were piling high in the kitchen sink and moonlight was reflecting off the taps as they leaked little droplets onto a stained plate because Draco had forgotten to turn the tap all the way off. Again. Harry turned the nozzle a little more to stop the leak and continued on his way to the living room with a large tub of chocolate ice cream and half a dozen spoons.

"You obviously cannot be trusted, give me that here," Hermione snatched the remote control from Seamus' hand and deftly switched over from 'Playboys TV', "don't need that sort of filth on there."

"Aww, Hermione! University Challenge is so boooring!" groaned Ron, taking a spoon off of Harry and battled with Dean for first scoop of the ice cream. Draco elbowed both Ron and Dean out of the way, and going that extra measure by climbing over the footrest. He'd come off the marathon diet five months ago and ever since he had been savouring, worshipping and orgasming over every little bit of sugar he could get his hands on.

Slowing dipping his spoon into the soft ice cream, allowing it to roll and mould itself onto the concaved dip of the spoon, Draco extracted a scoop the size of an iceberg and popped the whole monstrosity in his mouth. Both Seamus and Harry paid close attention to the mesmerising spectacle that was Draco sucking on a spoon, with plenty of tongue action.

"Napoleon!" screamed Hermione, flapping her hands in the air at the television. This drew Draco's attention. Both voyeurs were disappointed when the blonde crawled back over the other side of the room to sit next to Hermione.

"What's this?"

"University Challenge. Like Mastermind."

"Mastermind?" repeated Draco, raising an eyebrow. As Hermione exploded in to a historical lecture on UK game shows, Harry tried to stop Ron from flicking chocolate smudges on the cream carpets and sofa.

"And then Harry dived like this," Ron swooped his spoon through the air, orbiting it in front of Seamus' keen eyes, "and then that stupid Hungarian twat came up from the right, like this…" Ron grabbed a beer bottle right from Dean's hand and used it to simulate the Hungarian seeker Harry had confronted last week. The beer bottle intercepted the spoon's flight which sloshed thawed chocolate onto the carpet, making Harry clench his eyes. "Then Harry came up from underneath, and stopped him like this, see!" The spoon made a vertical rush upwards, cutting up the bottle's path. As Ron continued a scene by scene recap of why Seamus should have bought that spare ticket, Harry's ears tuned into the conversation on the opposite side of room.

Draco was still chewing on his utensil and basking in the sweet glow of television, his eyebrows drawn down in a furious scowl of concentration as he tried to match Hermione intellectually. They both shouted out answers to screen and yelling at the ignorant presenter.

"_Who wrote the essay 'The Poetic Principle'?_" asked the TV.

"Edgar Allan Poe," said Hermione. Harry watched the death stare thrown in her direction.

"_Correct. Who famously wrote that it is 'better to rule in hell than serve in heaven'?_"

"Milton!" yelled both Hermione and Draco. Hermione eyed her competition seriously and Harry wondered if he was going to have to intervene, a nerd war might break out. Leaving Ron to desecrate his furniture with confectionery sport, Harry slipped around the sofa, inconspicuously moving closer to the impending Battle of the Swots.

"_Yes, Milton. That's correct. For extra points, in Greek mythology, who was the unrequited love of Narcissus?"_

"Echo!" yelled Hermione, her voice echoing just a little too loud. Draco laughed and patted her pityingly on the shoulder.

"Narcissus was gay," said Draco, "It was Ameninais."

Hermione looked like she was about to say something more but the TV proudly proclaimed, _"Wrong. Earlier versions of the story, found one hundred and fifty years before Ovid account clearly states Narcissus had a male suitor. Ameninais. Next round."_

"How did you know that?" asked Hermione, glaring at the spoon Draco was clutching like it had told her she was an underachiever.

"Ameninais killed himself on Narcissus' doorstep because his affections were not returned. As he died, he prayed to the Gods that selfish Narcissus would one day know the pain of unrequited love," Draco slid his eyes around the room as he spoke and Harry pretended to be inspecting the sofa cushions for Weasley-inflicted stains. "Narcissus found love in his own reflection, but when his reflection didn't return his advances, he killed himself too. His body became a flower, and the flower was named after him. My mother is named after this flower."

"Oh…" Hermione didn't look like she didn't know what to say to that, so she turned back to the television and weakly answered, "Hera."

Harry was immensely relieved that the topic had not been perused; Draco was always a little touchy about his family. Hermione's diversionary tactic worked because Draco once again engaged in screaming at the television.

"Harry! You've been to France. What are the women like?" called Ron. Harry shrugged.

"To be honest, women weren't who I was looking at."

**

Draco felt like shoving his spoon up Hermione's left nostril and waggle it about until her brains souped out. Did she not understand the cardinal rule? Never mention his mother. Or his father. Or his height. Or his weight. Or…okay, so there were a lot of 'or's, but that did not excuse her from shamelessly making reference to his mother. If he hadn't plans to get laid once everyone left, then he would have politely told her that dentistry was the caveman's solution to the cruciatus curse and beaver prejudice.

Instead, he ignored the plight of having to be friends with Harry's friends and shouted at the TV. Beating the Mudblood with her own intellectual forte was very gratifying, and if only he could steal back the tub of ice cream from the weasel, then he would be in heaven. And if he was getting a blowjob at the same time, but that might be a little too greedy, even for him.

As Draco contemplated the benefits of blowjobs verses ice cream, verses whether both simultaneously counted as gluttony or came under separate sins of lust and gluttony, Hermione continued to spew out a stream of answers.

"How do you know so much?" muffled Draco around his spoon. He liked the way the metal sounded as it clanked on his teeth.

"I study hard."

"No, I mean…you came into our world when you were eleven. How can you know all this Muggle stuff at eleven? I didn't even learn renaissance wizarding history until I was twelve. How can you know…" He made a vague gesture with the spoon, "all of this?"

Hermione smiled at him like she had not just insulted his heritage, "During the six weeks holidays I caught up on the Muggle curriculum and then I got a degree socio-legal. It really helped with SPEW."

That was another 'or' that she had broken! How dare she bring up her own incriminating involvement in taking away his slaves! House elves were in short commodity thanks to her and her silly elfin rights. Damn her. It had taken him two months to work out how to use a washing machine when she had asked Harry to accept an example to the wizarding world and give clothes to Draco's elves. Damn her. And damn Harry for listening to her. Elves in pantaloons were not a good look.

"So…you went to Muggle university?" Draco pointed to the people in the theatre box, "like they did?"

"Yes. I only did a year course. Intensive study," said Hermione, unaware of the weary look she was getting from Harry, "When I graduated, my parents were so proud of me."

"Why?" Draco grabbed the remote from its balance on Hermione's knee and put the television on mute, focusing his whole attention on her.

Hermione thought for a moment before reply, "It's like the highest achievement a Muggle can get. It's a full education. Like finishing Hogwarts, and then doing on to something higher."

"Like a job?"

"No, I mean, it's the highest education you can get. Complete knowledge almost."

"Complete knowledge?" repeated Draco, a sharp glint coming into his eyes, "And you said this made your dentists proud of you?"

"My parents," corrected Hermione, "and yes, it did."

**

"Do you think they loved you even more once you had all the knowledge?" Harry had a sinking feeling. A very familiar feeling. He wanted to throw up in the empty Walls tub.

Hermione didn't seem to be able to make the correlation love and knowledge that Harry could clearly see was forming. She could only say 'err…'

Harry on the other hand was wishing he hold sold that fucking TV when Draco had first spouted the words 'Flora' and 'Champion of the Muggles'. And he really wished he had bought a nice flat in Diagon Alley or some other wizarding quarter of the world where electricity didn't work, because Harry was sure the television was a transfigured apple from the Garden of Eden.

"Ultimate knowledge…Harry, I want to go to university."

_Well shit. _

**

TBC

Author's note: Right guys, sorry that it has taken so long to get this back up. I finally decided on a direction for this train wreck. There will be weekly updates, and I hope you all enjoy the ride…again, lol.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Draco had always considered Terry Boot to be a man of wasted talent. He had intelligence, but too tied up in morals to do anything good with it. He was good looking, but too shy to assert himself. He had a fair bit of money, and nothing to do with it. He had a good sized penis, and yet continued to claim heterosexuality. A clever, rich, pretty boy who was a walking penis with a bad sexual orientation. Clearly, God was half slashed when he made the mould for that one.

"Out of my way, Boot. I'm quite capable of walking the eight steps to my own seat without getting lost," commanded Draco, "My sense of direction is amazing. Some people have even mistaken me for a delivery owl once or twice."

"You're late!" snapped Terry, rustling around in his pocket to produce the same pocket-watch he brandished in Draco's face every time they met.

"Before you get out that tatty heirloom, I know what the time is. I am only willing to explain my tardiness to the Minister himself. Not to his whipping boy," Terry bristled angrily. "Move aside."

After a brief scuffle, Boot led Draco into the VIP box. The box had changed little since the good old times of Victor Krum's victory days, but one thing that had changed was the seating arrangement. Neville Longbottom found it essential that only the correct people sat around him at Quidditch matches. And by 'correct', he meant fanatical fans. If Lucius were still alive, he would certainly have a few choice words to say about this new seating arrangement, and those words would definitely _not_ have been 'go team!'

Thankfully, Draco was a very fanatical fan. Not only did he find all the leather in the Quidditch uniforms sinful on his boyfriend, but he maintained his Seeker instincts from school and the Minister found it delightful to have Draco point out the Snitch whilst the Seekers where performing Wronski Feints at the other end of the pitch.

"Evening Minister," Draco gave a minimalist bow, his spine imitating cement. He stood by the Minister's chair, waiting permission to sit. The first time he had sat without consent, he was given a rather dubious plant at his and Harry's anniversary party and had learnt his lesson after that.

"Oh," Neville broke into a dazed smile, once again flabbergasted by the world as a whole, "So nice for you to join us, Malfoy. I always enjoy your commentary more than the one provided. Do take a seat."

Longbottom gestured to the chair on his immediate right, and Draco sent a smirk to Terry who was still playing usher. He settled himself on the plush seat after checking there was nothing green and prickly seated before him on the cushion.

"You're late, you have missed the mascots," informed Neville, picking up a peanut from the packet he had settled in the cup holder of his seat.

"That's a shame. I have seen England's mascot many a time, but seeing what Argentina can come up with would have provided some entertainment."

"Rabbits."

"Rabbits?" asked Draco, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," Neville nodded, "Rabbits." He gave a wild gesture with peanut shells going left, right and centre, "Big rabbits. Many of them. They hopped across the field, spelling out the player's names."

"Sound like cotton-ball hell to me," shrugged Draco, "Bunnies don't really say 'fear my god-like Quidditch skills', do they? More… 'We're randy'."

"Oh!" The Minister's sensibilities seemed to be playing up again. He didn't reply to Draco's comment, but chose to munch on a few more peanuts before asking, "Why are you late?"

"I was doing some research."

"Oh?" Neville turned his gaze away from the empty pitch and fond memories of grass-stained rabbits, to look at Draco with curiosity. As a man of no particular job, any research Draco was conducting must be of worth note. Otherwise…why do it?

"Yes, research." Draco leaned across the arm of his chair and spoke in a low, conspiring voice that drew Longbottom across his own chair to listen in. "What do you know of university, Minister?"

"University? Not much. I know there are some foreign schools that have learning all the way up to the age of twenty one, and those over Age learn F.R.. And some places up north that do them too."

"Oh yes, F.R.. I have often thought about getting my F.R.," Lucius had achieved his Frighteningly Risky Ostentatious Grades, and had passed some of the knowledge unto Draco at a very early age. All Draco was missing was the certificates and attendance. "I wasn't actually thinking about F.R. thought. I was thinking more…plebeian."

"Plebeian?" repeated Neville, in a hushed whisper like he was afraid the Argentinean Minister could understand their conversation.

"Hmm, yes. Muggle University. I have been contemplating it for a while now."

"Oh?" Draco knew Longbottom was intrigued but bloody Boot tapping on his arm drew his attention away. Damn that bloody Ravenclaw. Draco sent a glare to Terry, Terry just sniffed.

"Minister. It's time to start the game."

"What? Oh, yes. Okay. _Sonorous!_ Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcoming to the nine hundred and seventy third game of Quidditch!" The crowds cheered and Draco watched with boredom as many of the spectators stood in a show of magical patriotism while Longbottom made his address. "I hope you all enjoy your evening. Let us get underway. Let the game, begin!"

A flash of lights fell over the players, signalling the beginning of the game as Longbottom muttered a faint 'Finite Incantatum' and resumed his seat. Draco took a moment to look up at the players.

**

Harry rotated his right ankle. Then his left. Then his right again. Finally, the joint clicked and the tightness in his calf ceased. As the referee began the preliminary rant about field etiquette, Harry rotated his left ankle again, his gaze wondering over the crowd. His eyes instantly fixated on the Minister's box, specifically the blonde head bowed down towards the centre figure that could only be Neville.

His left ankle finally clicked and Draco's head lifted to look at him, as if the noise of his bones had called to his attention. As their eyes locked while Neville's voice echoed through the stadium, Harry felt his stomach drop. His stomach always seemed to be falling out the bottom of his feet lately. Each time he looked at Draco, he wanted to cry, he wanted to shout and hide under the bedcovers and ignore the world.

Draco pulled his eyes away from Harry's, and Harry's stomach fell through the soles of his feet and down through the forty foot drop to the bottom of the pitch. Turning his own eyes away, Harry watched the Snitch flutter away from the referee.

**

Draco quickly closed the internet explorer window, and retracted his hands from his underwear. "Potter! They're here!"

"Alright! I'm just drying off. Let them in and make them tea, or something!"

Draco huffed, and stood up. As he walked across the room, he checked that his erection was not too obvious, and opened the front door. Standing on the threshold was the sweetest, most sickly couple Draco ever had the misfortune of knowing. Weasley and his beaver stood tangled in each other's arms, hands in the other's back pocket and identical smiles of contentment. _Eww_. They stepped inside the flat in a uniformed step, allowing Draco to close the door behind them, effectively trapping himself with the squickiness that was vermin heterosexuals.

"Hey, Ferret," smiled Ron, "Where's Harry?"

"Shush your face," snapped Draco. After a moment, he added, "Harry's just getting out the shower. What do you want to drink?"

"Just some tea please, Draco."

"Tea, too, thanks. One sugar."

Draco went into the kitchen and clicked the kettle on, happy to avoid the smooch fest no doubtedly occurring on his once beloved sofa. Setting out four cups on the counter, he placed teabags in three of them and a three heaped teaspoons of Nescafe in the other one. The kettle built up noise in a steady momentum, drowning out the smacking of lips from the living room. Draco pottered over to the fridge, sniffing all the open bottles of milk. Two sour, one on the way out and one freshly opened. He was tempted to use bad milk in Weasley's tea, but like the time with the Thestral milk, Harry might notice if his best friend suddenly turned lime-green and stopped breathing. Draco grumbled as he poured fresh milk upon the teabags. Damn Weasley, wasting his milk. The kettle popped and Draco poured hot water into the cups, giving his cup the highest tide until the granules turned the water rich brown. Happy that his beverage was superior not only in colour, but taste, Draco carried the cups into the living room, leaving the messy countertop for Harry to clean up later.

**

"Are you kissing?" Harry turned his head and saw Draco standing at the kitchen door, steaming cups in hand, with his eyes clenched shut. "Tell me you're not kissing! I'll be traumatised if you are." Harry looked at Ron and Hermione, who were seated on different sides of the room and just shrugged.

"All clear." Said Harry. Draco cautiously opened his eyes, his gaze sweeping around the room to make sure nobody was making lip-to-lip contact. He smiled at Harry.

"Well done, see you're doing a good job of policing these deviants. Here, I made tea."

Harry accepted the '_world's worst hair'_ novelty mug from Draco and splayed one arm across the back of the sofa. Once Hermione and Ron had both received their own drinks with a side of sarcasm, Draco settled himself under Harry's arm and snuggled up against his side.

They all sipped tea in silence before Draco prodded Harry in the ribs. Harry looked down at him questioningly, and Draco bobbed his eyebrows meaningfully. Sighing, Harry turned his attention to Hermione. "Hermione?"

"Hmm, yes?"

"Would you be able to help Draco order some prospectuses off the computer?" _Say no! Say no! Say you don't know how to use a computer! Say you think that using technology is again SPEW policies! Say you want Draco to stay too! Say NOOO!_

"Sure thing." Hermione stood up and walked over to the computer desk. Draco pecked him on the cheek then went and joined Hermione, traitorous Queen of Computers. Harry watched stonily as they booted up the computer and began navigating the internet together.

Turning his eyes away from the stomach-clenching sight, Harry looked right into Ron's sympathetic gaze. It was all too much. "Do you want some wine?" asked Harry, abandoning his tea.

**

Granger may be a Muggle, but no one should be able to type _that_ fast. It was inhuman. Her fingers were practically blurring. Maybe she was trained to do this as a baby… Draco suddenly had the lovely image of a tiny baby nestled in the bush of it's own hair, slapping it's open palms down on a keyboard.

"Right, there are…well," Hermione laughed and pointed to a list on the screen, "a lot of universities. To narrow it down…what course do you want to do?"

"Err…" He knew his brow had crinkled, and hoped that he would not develop wrinkles on his forehead from the unused muscle usage to the rare expression of confusion. "Course?"

"Yeah, like, do you want to do science? Or sports, medicine, history, literature, media, teaching, forensics - "

"Okay, be quiet! I can't think!" snapped Draco. He looked in horror at the long list of subjects written across the site, and almost whimpered. If Malfoys did such things. "I will do…" Draco clenched his eyes shut and jabbed a finger randomly. He opened his eyes and said, "...History."

"Do you even know anything about history?"

"Are you calling me stupid?"

"N-no! I just meant -"

"Well shut your mouth, you silly M -…woman. I got Os in all my NEWTs. _Including_ Binn's class."

"But Muggle history is not the same. They do not have eleven revolts and troll wars…they just have world wars. I mean, do you even know who Hitler is?"

"Of course!" cried Draco, huffing. How ignorant did she think he was.

"Really?" she asked, her voice flat with disbelief.

"Yes. He was the Dark Lord before Voldemort. He went on a Muggle-spree in… nineteen… something…"

Hermione just coughed. "Are you sure you don't want to do another course?"

"Learning from our past will help us foresee the future."

"I'll take that as a yes. Shall I just order prospectuses from every university that does this course, or are you thinking of going somewhere specifically?"

**

"No, order them all. I'll go anywhere."

Harry turned quickly to Ron, and cast for a random subject. "Do you think I should redecorate?"

"It looks fine," replied Ron, casting an eye around the expensive furnishing, hi-tech gadgets and tasteful decorations. He shrugged. "I suppose it could be less…gay."

"Then it's decided," Harry clapped Ron on the back, "Draco, I'm redecorating?"

Draco was clearly too distracted to care, "You're making stuff up! There is not such thing as a 'Jew'! Are they a breed of Mudbloods?" Harry decided not to intervene Hermione's rage because the red handprint on Draco's face was appealingly lickable and the man was in need of a good spanking.

**

"What about English?"

"Eugh - no! Too much writing. I'd get calluses!" Draco indicated with a pout to his index finger.

"Okay then…what about art?"

"Are you serious? I'd get paint under my nails! What if I never got it out? And what if I got it over my expensive silk shirts? Silk is sensitive!"

"Could you get any more gay?" Hermione said more to herself than to Draco, rubbing her forehead in frustration. Draco smiled deviously and turned to look in Harry's direction, who was eyeing up the paintwork with a meticulous glare.

"Harry, pookie! Can I get a miniature poodle and call her Bianca and paint her nails and buy her a diamond collar and an entire wardrobe?" His mouth felt sullied from the camp overtones and he felt like running to the bathroom for toothpaste.

"Sure, whatever you want," Harry pointed to the wall on which the television was mounted, "Do you think I should redecorate in blue? Blue's a nice colour, right?"

Draco turned smugly back to Hermione, crossing his legs in a decidedly effeminate way and smirked congenially at her. She huffed and shoved the keyboard over to him, "Do it yourself, you irritating little pest!"

**

Harry dusted the table for the sixth time and nervously watched Draco clicking away on the computer slowly. Without Hermione's help, the process was taking a lot longer.

"You don't have to go to university, Draco," he offered. The apartment was already quieter somehow, Draco's presence absorbed by the dastardly computer.

"Yes, I do," the blond said adamantly. Where the hell was the 'Q' button?

"Why?"

"To be the best, of course."

"You're already the best, Draco."

Draco scoffed, pressing 'K' because it sounded similar to 'Q' and the person who designed the keyboard clearly didn't know the all the letters of the alphabet, lot alone what order they went in. "You're biased. I shall be the smartest and the best, and I shall be loved by all."

"But a Muggle university, Draco. You won't be able to use magic, and... they are all so far away." The last part was delivered quietly, and Harry continued to systematically beat a sofa-cushion into plump perfection.

"I can live perfectly well without magic, Potter. Are you suggesting I can't?" As usual, ears only turned into the implied challenge, favouring to start at the bright computer screen than even acknowledge Harry's distress.

"I'm sure you can do anything you put your mind to, Draco," Harry said placatingly and gave up, knowing he wasn't going to be able to coax the blonde easily out of his newest obsession that easily. He sighed and picked imaginary lint from the back of the couch.

"This upholstery is looking tatty," Harry commented. "I think I'll replace it. Maybe something in Gryffindor red."

"Hmmm, you do that," said Draco absently. He was just victorious in finding the 'Q' key and was now scrolling back up the page to replace the letter. Bad spelling was unlikely to lead to academic superiority and success.

"What about learning from home?" suggested Harry, one last ditch attempt at selfishness. He wanted Draco to be with him, where he could see him, love and hold him. Do things impossible to be done in a long distance relationship.

Draco pressed enter with a flourish, and an MSN message manifested in the corner of the screen, detailing the new confirmation email to the University of Glasgow littering his inbox. Perfect. "I am not going to dignify that question with an answer."

**

TBC

**Author's Note:** Sorry about the delay, life is madness! All comments appreciated, I will be answering reviews now that I am out of Exam season. Next chapter soon!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Uploaded for those who hounded me for an update, determined not to let me get away with discontinuing this damn story :)

**Chapter three**

The sun was being lazy today. It was half past six in the morning and yet the glowing orb was rising into the sky at a leisurely pace, unwilling to shine through the thick dreary clouds of the English weather. Because the sun had yet to wake properly, the air was still cool, and the grass was damp with dew as Harry jogged through the park. The odd twitter of birds in the trees made Harry want to sing cartoons under his breath in remembrance, and it was times like these that he wished he didn't jog alone.

Draco had only managed to continue his fitness regime for two months after the marathon, by which time he had become accustomed to KFC and midday lie-ins. Harry still got up faithfully at the crack of dawn to run, and by seven, he would be returning up to the flat to begin the day ahead. However, another person in the apartments was also up at seven, and as always, Harry feigned politeness.

"Harry, dear!" Mrs Wiltson was barely keeping her dignity in the satin blue teddy with a hint of a lace decorating the suspender belt that was peeking from beneath the fabric of her nightwear.

"Good morning, Mrs Wiltson." Harry placed went through the normal morning routine of scrounging in his pocket desperately for the flat keys. Mrs Wiltson ran one hand seductively over the curve of her replacement-hip, and sashayed over to him with surprising agility for an octogenarian. Harry placed the key in the lock and would have escaped if it was not for etiquette's sake.

"Mr Wiltson's brother died yesterday," sighed Mrs Wiltson, her face contracting with a contradiction of lust and sorrow.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," said Harry, genuinely. Clearly, the old lady was in need of some comfort. _Being old and seeing loved ones die around you must be horrible_. Bravely, Harry left the front door ajar and walked over to his wheezy next door neighbour, crouching down a little and enveloping her in his arms, patting her comfortingly on the back.

A soft sigh, which Harry summarised was a mournful sob, admitted from around his collarbone and weak arms wrapped around his waist. Harry was midway through his condolences, when something completely unsurprising made him yelp out in surprise. "I'm so sorry to hear about your loss. Were you very close to Mr Wiltson's brother before he - ARGH! MRS WILTSON!"

"My husband is in Scotland, settling the will with the attorneys. He'll be gone for three days at least. Are you sure you don't want to come in for some lunch?"

Harry just rubbed his bum and stepped into his apartment, so deeply disturbed that he forgot to say 'no thank you'. A mistake he would later regret when Mrs Wiltson accosted him two weeks later in the elevator because Mr Wiltson's other brother had died.

xxx

The curtains rustled loudly as they were pulled aside and the dull weather still hurt Draco's eyes. He buried his head under a spare pillow and let out a exhalation of air when a warm body threw itself upon his. "It's early. Leave me be, you sex fiend you."

"Mrs Wiltson pinched my bum. Wake up and defend my honour."

Draco didn't consider this a top priority because as far as he knew, Harry didn't have a wrinkle fetish. Plus he was comfy. To move now would be like submitting to society's time allocation, and Draco had always considered seven o' clock wake-ups to be a government conspiracy.

"You probably provoked the poor sex-starved cripple, you slut."

"I did not!" came an indignant cry from the other side of the pillow. Draco tried to imagine what the world would be like if he Sellotaped a pillow to his ears for the day. Very muffled probably, but at least there would be less sunshine.

"We all have our little secrets, Harry." The pillow-world was a nice world, it smelt faintly of Harry's cologne. Was this Harry's pillow? "Like for example, I have a collection of straight porn you know nothing about. Admit it. You wiggled your pert little bum in front of Mrs Wiltson and cried through the hallway in tones of passion, 'take me now, oh Mistress of Kink!'. Admit it, Harry. I won't judge."

"Yes, Draco," came a very unlively pan, "I asked her to whip rune-shapes into my back with a cat-o'-nine."

"See, don't you feel better?" There was no reply but the weight of the other person lifted off his back and the mattress shifted, followed by the feeling of loneliness in bed. Deciding to leave the pillow world to make sure that Harry hadn't hung himself over their wrinkle-explicit banter, he caught sight of the alarm clock on his bedside table. Not only did it traitorously boast the numbers nine twenty-eight, the Post-it note he had placed atop of the snooze button brought him to a very horrifying reality. He was going to be late.

"SHIT!" Battling out from under the bedcovers, throwing his pillow away in an angry fit of frustration, two sore funny-bones and a scraped knee later, Draco made a dash for his wardrobe. Harry merely stood in the reflection of the mirror lined against the sliding doors, and said, "Go get a shower, it's only seven. I'll make breakfast."

"DON'T TOUCH MY CLOCK!"

xxx

Draco came pottering into the kitchen forty minutes later, his hair wet and dripping down his face as he leaned against Harry's back and nuzzled into his boyfriend's neck. "Potter. If you ever touch my clock again, I'm going to tell Mrs Wiltson that you'll be all by your lonesome by the end of next month. I'll let her take advantage of you while I'm at university."

Harry didn't say anything, just continued to fry the bacon and soak up the feeling of a damp body and tented towel press through the material of his tracksuit.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"Don't lie to me."

"Nothing."

A soft kiss at the base of his throat, "Is it the thought of Mrs Wiltson in tight leather? Are you over stimulated?"

Harry gave a choking sound. God, he was going to miss Draco's humour. "No."

"What's the matter then?"

"Nothing. Go get changed. You'll be later otherwise."

"I'm a Malfoy, they can wait."

"They're Muggles. They don't even know what Malfoys are. They'll think you're a cereal brand, like Shreddies or something," Harry turned over the bacon and moved away from Draco to fetch eggs out of the fridge. "Nothing is wrong, go get dressed."

Draco wavered momentarily, trying to grasp at any possible reason why Harry might be upset. His brow was slightly crinkled and his lips pinched in thought before shaking off all irrational thoughts about cellulite, and left to get ready. Harry just continued to cook in silence.

xxx

"What?" asked Draco, raising an eyebrow. An eyebrow he hoped would stop Harry from pulling that face at him. The poor man looked constipated.

"Nothing…it's just…" Harry squinted a little, "Is that my suit?"

_Ah. Busted._ "Erm, no."

"I thought you didn't like to wear Dolce and Gabbana."

Harry had the breakfast manners of a swine. Eating with his fork in his left hand, pinkie finger not elevated. Disgusting. And to add to the nausea, he was talking about clothes over the food. Draco felt sorry for the tomatoes, they were blushing from the social embarrassment. All red and shiny, poor things.

"Please, Potter. This is hardly the subject to be talking about in front of the toast."

"Why are you wearing my suit?"

Attempting a different tactic of diversion, Draco tried for the offensive. "Honestly, it's not like I'd wear mine!"

Clearly this was not going to work. Harry had placed his cutlery on the plate at the six o' clock angle - a time of day the man clearly favoured if he was willing to wake up that early - and folded his arms, awaiting an explanation. "You have more clothes than Paris Hilton. Explain why you have taken to wearing mine."

He didn't know who Paris Hilton was, but Draco stayed firm to the fact that this was not appropriate discussion in front of vegetation and so set about eating his last tomato to clear his plate. First he peeled the crumpled, fried skin away from the fleshy mass and shredded it into five equal strips. Each one was chewed, savoured and digested with great care before he set about devouring the rest of the fruit posing as a vegetable. Five more sections and each pip pierced with the prong of the fork, after which Draco could not drag out his meal any longer. Placing his knife and fork together at the four-in-the-afternoon angle, he averted his gaze to the kitchen window, attempting to look aristocratic in profile.

"I wanted to wear it because…" he coughed, and did _NOT_ blush, "I wanted it to feel like you were there with me." A funny squeak met his admission and Draco looked out the corner of his eye to see, to his horror, that Potter was giving into his Gryffindor tendencies.

"Oh my God, you are so flipping cute!"

"Malfoy's aren't cute. And we aren't cereal and I was just using your suit to scare away Mrs Wiltson before she attacked me on the way to the car. She has a thing for Champions, you know."

Potter was clearly containing any more girlish outbursts by turning bright pink in the cheeks and biting his lip whilst simultaneously smiling the widest grin ever. "Did you really think I was going to let you do this by yourself?" he asked. The tomatoes rushed to his cheeks and he pointedly looked out the window.

xxx

The wall to his left had a large underwater mural. Tiled sea turtles and dolphins depicted with the skill of a drunken Roman only looked even remotely real because of the raindrops being shadowed across the wall-painting by the large windows to his right. The weather was typical of the country. Wet and oppressive. The rain splattered across the windows loudly, but not enough to drown out the redhead opposite. The woman's green outfit clashed with her hair, and the phone nestled to the shell of her ear didn't draw the eye away from the dreadful pony stitched over her podgy navel. She was speaking loudly into her mobile, her crisp, upper-class Muggle accent seemed her only esteeming quality.

"When I am old, and not so beautiful," began Draco, tipping his head to indicate to the offending jumper, "never let me walk out the house with any farm yard animal on my shirt."

"Not even a chicken?"

"Especially not a chicken."

Harry wrapped his arm around Draco and smiled diligently, "Okay, I promise. But on one condition."

"What?"

"You'll let me wear the chicken-shirt instead."

"Definitely not."

"Oh come on, Draco! I've got to have _some_ fun in my dotage."

"Never. Listen to me, Potter. Repeat after me. We're both _too_ pretty for women and bad jumpers."

"We are both too pretty for women and I really like her jumper," repeated Harry, watching as the woman across them finished her phone conversation. She flipped the lid of her mobile closed and scowled over at them for disrupting the silence of the hallway.

They had been waiting in the mural-corridor for forty minutes now, and Harry was encouraging Draco's inane chatter, if only to distract himself from the reason his bum had gone numb on the ergonomic chair he'd been forced to suffer. He didn't want to be there. He didn't want to look at the silly aquatic themed wall opposite. He didn't want to see the nervous smile on Draco's face as they waited. He didn't want Draco to walk into that room at the far end of the corridor that had the words 'interview in process' tacked to the door.

xxx

Sitting in the offensively coloured plastic chair, he wanted to chuck the diabolical piece of furniture at the interviewer's head, hoping to do more damage than just colour-blind the fool. "Pardon?" he asked flatly, his brow lowered into a frown. The fool shifted in his own rather plump chair.

"Your application," began Mister Joule, "It didn't say what qualifications you had."

"It must do. I clearly remember writing them down."

"Yes, but what are oh-double-U-els?" asked the interviewer. Draco wondered if all Muggles were retards.

xxx

Harry could feel his eye beginning to twitch as Draco brutally carved a gash into the china plate with his fork. Harry wondered how much the plate cost, because the expensive square chandelier hanging over their table indicated that a cheapy from Tesco would not suffice as a replacement. "Draco, put the spoon down before you harm someone."

"The plate won't fight back," assured Draco, slapping the side of the tool viciously onto the china, creating a small crack. Harry noticed the concerned manager moving towards their table, and he quickly gathered up their coats from the back of the chairs and pulled Draco away from the cutlery by his elbow. Bringing Draco to a restaurant was clearly not a good plan.

xxx

"Stupid, plebeian Muggle qualifications!" Draco began to tare off his clothes in a scrambled rush of movements that portrayed his anger, frustration and disappointment. Harry watched his partner undress from the door, and wondered if he should follow suit. Draco was a dragon in the sack when he was pissed off. Harry actually reached for the hem of his shirt when Draco slung his boxers off, throwing them randomly in the air. The black garment ended up on the curtain railing, a patriotic flag to a crappy day.

"Do you need a willing body?" asked Harry, wiggling his eyebrows without the effectiveness of someone who'd had eyebrow-agility lessons when he was seven. Draco looked over his shoulder and raised his left eyebrow high, the other one furrowing low. Roughly translated for those who don't know eyebrowology: _'Do I look like I want your penis inside me right now?!'_

Grabbing one of Harry's worn shirts as a huggle-blanket, he buried himself under a mountain of covers and quilts and it didn't seem to Harry that he was emerging anytime soon. Harry walked cautiously over to the quivering lump of duvet on the bed, and poked it at arms length. The mass gave a decidedly agitated tremor and then went still. Harry poked it a few more times before stripping off himself and lifting one corner of the blanket.

Inside was hot and humid from Draco's breathing, and it smelled of Harry's cologne because the shirt was emitting it's used smell throughout the make-shift tent. Draco was clinging to Harry's favourite white shirt with a furious possessiveness, shifting away from Harry in case it was in danger of being confiscated. Harry merely opened his arms in silent offer. Draco blinked. Then he sniffed, blinked again and then blinked once more for good measure. Some people say that yawning is contagious, and Harry supposed that blinking was too, for after Draco's own optical display, he had to blink to stop his eyes from watering. In the brief second that his eyes were shut, Draco had flung the shirt out of the sanctuary and deposited himself in Harry's arms, letting out a wail that would wake the dead.

"How can they not know what O. are?! And why do their qualifications not spell out anything?! Muggles are retarded! I don't want to go to university with a load of disease ridden, brain addled, stupid Hufflepuffish, smelly -"

As Draco waxed lyrical pureblood propaganda long since lost from war, Harry smiled, and finally felt the worry and dread leave him. Draco was staying.

"And another thing! They have funny feet, might as well have hooves!"

xxx

Today had been a pretty shit day. He had know it was going to be a shit day because Harry had fiddled with his alarm clock, and when one man fiddles with another man's clock, the universe conspires against the fiddlee. Clearly, the clock fiddling was to blame for the dyslexic interviewer. Not that Draco could blame Harry. Harry was lovely, and clearly too innocent to do anything malicious because he wasn't Slytherin-wise to come up with a half decent plot. The only malicious thing Harry ever did was dribble in his sleep. Which was why Draco's nipple was disgustingly wet.

His lack of G.C., which Draco thought could probably be acronym'd into something like 'geese', seemed to completely hinder his plans for becoming the intellectual Champion of Muggles and be loved by all. The thought of going back to the Ministry and have bloody Terry Boot, that smug bastard, gloat about his lack of Muggle education, was going to be torture. With any luck, Draco wouldn't have to see Boot until the next Quidditch match. Draco rarely saw the Minister in a professional capacity. It was always terribly difficult to talk to the Minister in a boardroom when Draco used to bully the shit out of the poor podgy boy. Draco only saw Neville during social events, and never without his little lapdog. _Bloody Boot, if he says one word, I'm going to -_ Draco gasped and Harry murmured in his sleep, unconsciously complaining that his pillow was breathing too deeply.

Draco ignored Harry nuzzling into his ribs and stared up at the moonlit ceiling, reliving the last time he had seen the Minister. Smiling widely, a scheme quickly forming, Draco closed his eyes contently and decided to come up with a title for his master plan. '_How to be The Best and Not Be Near Those Stupid Muggles_', '_Plan B'_, '_Finally Living Up To My Father's Expectations'_, and _'Become So Qualified, People Won't Employ Me Because They'll Feel Inferior To My Pulsating Brain Of Knowledge'_ all seemed like pretty good titles.

However, Draco finally settled on '_Plan B: How To Still Become Loved By All_'.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter four**

The gardens surrounding Malfoy Manor were once a landmark sight for wizarding tourists from around the world. They would flock to England to see their quaint little Diagon Alley, the charming Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the pagan plains of Stonehenge, and the delightful gardens of Malfoy Manor.

Whilst the grounds could be considered impeccable by anyone with a camera, and by prize winning gardener's standards, Draco felt that his mother had let the gardens go since Lucius' death. Standing the on the doorstep of his childhood home, Draco looked plaintively around at the bushes and flower beds that were a complete shab compared to the uniformed state the foliage had been in when Lucius was still around, kicking house-elves into rose-bush-loving submission. No longer did the flora salute in rows, but now in batches, all clustered together like they sought warmth in each other's petals. The trees had grown wild and leaves were allowed to angle at whatever took their fancy, no longer homogeneously pointing to the earth's core. Draco was frankly disgusted at the wilderness that was his mother's gardening skills, and could not wait to chastise her for it.

"Please, come in, Sir." The house elf acting as a doorstop was looking curiously at him, probably wondering if he had a shrubbery fetish. Draco cast one distempered glare to a begonia that dared to droop over its terracotta container, and stepped into the manor. "Would you like Remmy to be taking your coat?"

"Yes, but put it by an exit."

All the house-elves under the reign of the Malfoy family were well versed in the art of stoicism. Remmy raised a questioning eyebrow at her mistress' son, one ear also bending to complete the expression but ultimately complied with the command, looping the Mistress' son's coat on the back of an ornamental sixteenth century antique chair that sat beside the entrance to the estate.

"Dobby, where is my mother?"

"My name is Remmy, Sir."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Sir. I is a girl!"

"Hmm, well I can't be around all day learning creature's names. If I wish to call you Dobby, then you should appreciate everything your masters give you. That includes the next time you protest about your name and I decide to give you a penis! You'll be bloody grateful for that as well, now lead me to my mother, you…ungrateful creature." Draco felt almost dizzy with catharsis. Harry had made Draco get rid of all their house-elves, just because Granger had moaned at them about SPEW bi-annual objectives for cutting down slavery by eight percent. Draco thought this rather ridiculous because elfin suicide went up by forty percent, a little redundant but at least the elves now had a choice; pills or razors. He'd missed yelling at the silly little creatures and watching the way their ears flattened against their skulls in an act of willing compliance, just like Dobby's were doing right now.

"Sorry Sir, Remmy will punish herself for being ungrateful! I will hit myself with the -"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Listening to the brainless being's self mutilation, while fun and surprisingly imaginative, would take a lifetime. "Iron your toes or something, and take me to my mother. And while you're at it, iron your penis too; your door answering skills are something to be desired, you left me out there for hours!"

Draco was not happy to see that the creature was leading him into the west wing of the house, towards what Draco knew to be the world's most nauseating room. "Mistress will be with you soon, Sir." The cowardly midget scurried away, ears flattered down its back to make a more aerodynamic getaway, leaving Draco to seat himself down on the divan seat and wait.

The west tea room used to be painted sky blue to compliment the large domed glass ceiling that framed the heavens perfectly. As a child he would often sleep in this room to simulate a camping experience under the stars. Lucius never approved, saying that camping was for blood traitors. Now the room was painted florescent orange, and Draco no longer wanted to sleep under the translucent ceiling because it would be like camping inside a traffic cone. The new colour scheme clashed horribly with the sky and his hair, and the only thing more insane than Narcissa's decorating skills was the matching dress that Narcissa was wearing.

"Draco! Darling!" Swooped into a bright orange bosom, Draco was extremely thankful for his second puberty growth spurt, otherwise his nose would be nestled between his mother's carrot coloured breasts.

"MHPH!" Extracting himself, Draco sent a baneful smile to Narcissa and her hideous dress. "That's a lovely dress mother! Where on earth did you find it?"

Leading them back over the divan, Narcissa clicked her fingers and the pest appeared, bowing its ears to the ground. "How may Remmy be serving you, Mistress?"

"Get the cake that I bought from _Sprinkles_ this morning. Only the best for my Draco."

"Mother, please. No fluffy talk in front of the help. They'll think you're addled."

Remmy left with a quiet, respectful _pop_ and Narcissa returned her wide blue eyes to her son. She looked him up and down studiously. Draco straightened his back and folded his hands the way he was taught in etiquette lessons when he was six. Remmy appeared again, baring a large silver platter trimmed in leaf gold border, with a large orangey browned cake upon its centre. It looked delicious and Draco reached out for a piece before the elf had even placed it on the serving table. Taking a bite was like tasting Harry. A heady mixture of untapped dominance and wilful submission. Like coffee and carrots. Draco gave out a small moan of pleasure around the soft mulch in his mouth, and this was when Narcissa chose to begin her interrogation.

"Are you changing your underwear enough? I hope you and Harry don't share underwear, you'll get all sorts of diseases from that half-blood boy.'"

Draco tried to cough the cake out of his lungs, but in true Malfoy form, managed to provide a sarcastic return and suffocate, "You'd think I'd be more likely to get them when his penis is inside me, wouldn't you?" His mother was not impressed. She discreetly wiped away the wet crumb that had landed on her cheek.

"Oh Draco, don't be so crass! Honestly. Eat another cake, you're getting so thin. That boy isn't feeding you enough."

"He's not a boy. He's in his twenties! And I can look after myself, mother! I'm not a boy either!"

"Are you calling me old?"

Draco huffed but reached for another piece of cake. "No mother. Your beauty is the envy of your whole social circle," _and your soup-for-brains the envy of the homeless_. "Mother, I came here to tell you something important." Narcissa smoothed out an orange wrinkle in the skirt of her orange dress and looked interestedly out of the glass in the ceiling

"Oh? I hope you are not going to do another silly running thing. It's so undignified, Draco. House elves and blood traitors are for the running chores."

Draco swiped his hand around the edge of his mouth to catch any icing that remained and decided that his mother had entered her final stage of madness. First the orange decorations, then the orange dress, and now the orange nail polish he had just spotted. As an integral part of the workforce that defeated the Dark Lord, Draco was slightly miffed at his mother's lingering ideologies. He preferred to think of her as off her broomstick than not supporting him fully.

"I came in twenty-first, was the champion of the Muggles and was loved by all. I will run whenever I want to."

"So this 'something important' isn't running? What is it then?" A thestral few over the sky and his mother's eyes tracked the beast's journey with a slight anger in her eyes. One of the stable boys was going to get a whipping.

Draco took a deep breath and his mother waited patiently. "Mother, I am going to university."

She gave a low hum in the back of her throat. Draco leaned forward in anticipation for her next words. "Have you got the stationary yet?"

Huffing, Draco picked up another slice of cake and leaned back against the divan. "You may choose my quills if you like."

"Fantastic. We'll get you a lovely orange one."

_xxx_

"You know what's a good colour?" asked Draco rhetorically, stepping into the flat with an appraising look at the devastation. "Orange."

"Had tea in the west room I take it," said Harry, dipping his brush into the tin again and then spreading it across the walls.

"It's not such a bad colour. We should paint the walls orange here. It'll match mother's dress if she ever comes to visit."

"Clearly you're brain's melted from overexposure. That room has blinded your sense of taste. Sit down and I'll make some tea. It'll help." Harry placed the brush across the rim of the Dulex tin and went into the kitchen to put the kettle on. Draco walked around the room and went to sit on the sofa.

On any normal day he would be disinclined to sit down on any furniture covered in dusty, paint splattered sheets, but his mother fatigued him greatly so he carelessly slung himself and his black Gucci suit onto the couch. Casting a disinterested eye around the apartment, Draco took in the wet patches of wall and the cream coloured paint tin and brush dripping onto the unprotected flooring with great indifference.

Harry bustled back into the living room a couple of minutes later with a hot cup of tea like any good boyfriend should when their partner had been enforced into the company of their mothers. He settled on the sofa beside Draco and handed him the cup, but didn't draw him to his side, as per their sofa-sitting custom. And Draco didn't want to be drawn against Harry's side, his visiting-mother suit would get paint all over it. "So…" said Draco, looking around the living room, "Why are you painting our lovely cream walls?"

"It's time to redecorate. Cream is so last year."

Draco wasn't going to comment on Harry's choice of tone or affinity to that program on television he had saw Harry secretly watching. One night he had woken up to find Harry not in bed beside him. He had wondered down to the living room and found Harry watching reruns of _Queer Eye for the Straight Guy_. When he had made his presence known with a little cough, Harry had pressed a clever little button on the remote control and shoved his hands down his boxers, working his arm and commented lightly, "Look Draco. Playboys TV special!"

"And…egg white is this year's colour, then?" asked Draco, reading the label on the paint pot. Harry gave a distinctive shift and nodded.

"Yes. It's got the depth of warm colours without the glaring brightness, but also gives off a calming emotion that is usually found in cool colours." Clearly, Harry had been watching 'porn' again.

"Hmm." Draco looked at the splodges of wet paint on his boyfriend's face and in his hair with a slight pull of his groin and he gave Potter a seductive smile. Harry returned it and Draco put the cup down to undo his zipper. Apparently Potter had other ideas.

"I need to finish this last wall, then we can go shopping, okay? I think a ficus plant would look very nice in that corner." Draco didn't care which corner Harry was paying attention to, because it wasn't to his hard on, so he stood up and moved to the computer desk.

"Okay. I'll just fill out some more forms. Call me when you're ready to go."

"Okay," said Harry, who stood up and went back to his painting. Draco pulled out a large orange quill from his pocket and began to fill out a large stack of forms that had been waiting on his desk since Thursday when it had been dropt off by three very tired owls. _Idris, University of Magic and Sorcery _emblazed across each of the one hundred and ninety three pages.

_Name: Draco Malfoy_

_Age: Bugger off_

_Marital Status: Happily shagging_

_Occupation: Blackmailer and outside endorsement for the cheap government _

_Choice of subjects:…err…_

_xxx_

"What about this one?" asked Harry. Draco looked at the plant, taking in its limp leaves and passive flowers with a speculative gaze.

"Does it do anything cool?"

"Erm…photosynthesises?"

"…No. It's a crap plant and fundamentally useless. I ban you from buying it." Harry sighed and put the plant back into the tray of its doppelgangers and looked at their trolley, filled only with lilies and black roses.

"Draco, your taste in plants is a little morbid."

"Show me a plant that will write my university admission forms for me, and can chew Weasley's ghastly hair off his scalp, and then maybe I shall permit you to buy it." Draco examined a Venus Fly Trap with the same fascination as when he poked dead flubberworms as a child, touching the sensitive follicles of the plant to set off the catch.

"Don't tease it, Draco. It thinks you're food." Harry placed one of the Venus Fly Trap into the trolley, anticipating Draco's continued attention to it. "You don't need a plant that does anything. They are merely for aesthetics. You could just not fill out the forms."

"How am I supposed to get admittance without the admission forms?"

"Never mind." Harry pushed the trolley into another aisle of the nursery and knew that Draco was tagging along passively behind him, still overcome from his mother's taste in ginger paint to function properly. As they wondered past the pottered plants, Harry was suddenly overcome with the idea of his own plant nursery, despite not owning a garden. Plucking up an eight-pack of posies, he held them under Draco's nose. "What do you think?"

Draco took one look at the baby blue trimmed petals and his eyes lit up in horror. "Longbottom."

Harry blinked. _Eh?_ "Eh?"

"Longbottom," repeated Draco like it would make Harry understand any better. Harry lowered the flowers with confusion as Draco pulled out his wand in the middle of the Muggle garden centre.

"What are you doing?"

"Sending a message to Longbottom. _Expecto Patronum_!"

Harry whipped his gaze around the aisle to check no Muggles wearing green aprons were about. He turned back to see Draco arranging a meeting time to his Patronus, a medal with '21' glittering on its silvery sufface. "I need to meet with you, somewhat urgently. Tomorrow at three, if possible." The medal glittered and then sprouted cartoon-like legs, little running shoes adorning each wispy foot and it jogged its way through the air and out of the ceiling. Draco's Flora-sponsored Patronus was a recent development.

"Why do you need to meet with Neville?" asked Harry, clutching the pack of posies to his chest, "I thought we were going shopping for a new sofa tomorrow."

"There's nothing wrong with our sofa at the moment." Draco took the posies out of Harry's hand and put them back on the shelf, grabbed the trolley and started off down the aisle.

"Why do you need to talk to Neville?"

"Got to ask for leave for university."

Harry's stomach sank and he wanted to rip the petals off the black roses. "Why would you need to take leave? You weren't going to before."

"Yeah, but that's a Muggle education - how hard can that be!" Draco scoffed, either at the prospect of quitting his job to gain a degree, or at the daffodil bulbs, Harry didn't know. "But to do FROGs and have a job. Impossible. Especially when I've got to go to Wales."

"But why do you need to tell Neville?" Wales was an awfully long way away.

"Well…he is my boss. I am sure he would be pretty pissed if I didn't inform him of this."

"But _you_ pay _him_."

"…So?"

_xxx_

_Author's Note: This chapter was put up for _Arcus Pluvius and TheSlytherinIcePrincess; _Now you finally know where Draco got his mentality from, lol. _


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Draco blinked. It seemed that the Minister's fancy black robes with blue trimmings had taken a turn. Looking like a fat cloud, Longbottom stood by the window of his office in bright sky blue robes with black piping around the hems of his sleeves and neckline. Draco wondered how the country's morale managed to stay up when their leader was such a loon. "Good morning, Minister. You're looking very dashing today. Is this new colour merely an extension of your mood, or are you celebrating the birth of your baby-boy? I wasn't even aware Mrs Minister was pregnant."

"Don't call Terry that."

"It's such a fitting title though. You can tell he is just waiting for you to put a ring on his finger, sir. They say that rubies are this year's diamonds, you know."

Longbottom seemed to tire of the office banter quicker than usual. Clearly, Boot had not yet caved in to the Minister's amorous requests for a different kind of assistance, and the subject was evidently becoming a soft spot for the lovesick leader. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

Draco walked slowly around the room, passing the ex-Gryffindor who was looking resolutely out at the sky for different shaped clouds, and sat himself behind the Minister's desk. _Oh to be ruler._ The chair was made of the softest dragon hide, each inch of the chair cushioning Draco's posterior like Harry's warm hands on Christmas morning. _I must have this chair._ Leaning it back on its hinges, Draco reclined in the seat and put his two thousand pound boots up on the mahogany desk. The heels of his shoes smacking on the wood was muffled only by the stack of Kiss-authorisation documents. "I didn't get into Muggle University."

"Oh?" murmured Neville flatly.

"I know! I was as surprised as you are! Outrageous. Apparently OWLs are not recognised qualification. Imagine my surprise. They were looking for some silly exams called GEESE's. No wonder Muggles are completely backwards."

"This is why you called this meeting?" asked Longbottom to the pigeon on the window ledge outside, "Looking for sympathy for your failure?"

_FAILURE?!_ Draco wanted to kick the files on the floor, storm out, go to Gringotts and pull the financial plug on the whole ministry, bugger the country and being loved by all.

Instead, he calmly crossed one ankle over the other and made sure to leave a rubber streak on the top sheet beneath his foot. "Actually, I've decided that a Muggle education is beneath me, and would not serve the purpose of the Ministry productively. Being more knowledgeable about Muggle genocide, while interesting and a favourite pastime of mine, is completely useless in my job. But I do want to be more prolific to the Ministry…and to you. So…" Draco wondered if the pigeon knew it was being watched by a human being with the same brain capacity. "I've applied to Idris."

Longbottom's attention remained steadfast on the pigeon, which was now preening its wings laboriously. "Idris? As in the University of Magic?"

"Yes."

"…Did they accept you?"

"Naturally. As if they could deny me, me who has Os in everything -"

"Except in Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology."

"Frivolous subjects." Draco waved the matter away. "I received my acceptance letter days ago. I am merely filling out the data forms."

Longbottom turned away from the window once the bird had become aware of his looming presence and fluttered off to a more private windowsill. He walked over to his filing cabinet and picked up the little metal watering can that was perched upon it. Idiosyncratically, the Minister went about his office, watering plants and petting at their leaves and blooms with a sort of fondness usually found with normal people and their sex toys. As he was watering a phallic shaped cactus which Draco thought had been a very appropriate secret Santa gift, Longbottom stated, "You can't go."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" They had been spending too much time together; he was even beginning to sound like the bumbling idiot.

"Sorry, but I cannot let you go on a year's leave." Draco didn't like the ominous tone that was underlining the man's desperate plea for his presence. "The Ministry needs you. I won't let you go."

"Frankly, I'd like to see you try and stop me, Minister." Draco collected himself to leave. "I'm not on your payroll."

_xxx_

Dropping his keys into the vase, Draco walked through the living room to the kitchen. He flicked the kettle on and pulled an orange cup, last year's birthday present courtesy of his mother, from the cupboard. It clashed horribly with the dark green kettle and the brown coffee granules he spooned in. He leaned back against the breakfast table and watched steam slowly rise from the spout, the promise of a hot beverage making him calmer.

He looked out of the window to the nearby park. Children were playing, mothers were reading books on benches and old men were sidling up to them, their canes stroking the occasional succulent ankle. Pulling his mobile from inside his jacket, Draco dialed a well memorised number and placed the receiver to his ear. Waiting patiently, a voice finally came through the other end. "Hello?"

"Hi."

"Oh, hi Draco. What's up?"

"Wondering if you wanted to meet up? I have something to tell you."

"Something you can't tell me over the phone?" the voice inquired, its tone teasing. Draco ducked his head a little, merely to wedge technology into the crook of his neck.

"No, not really."

"Alright then. Come round at about five-ish. Me and the misses are going out to buy nursery stuff."

Draco nodded, then remembered what Harry had taught him about nodding. "Okay, Five. Sounds good." Leaning back a little, his hands spreading out behind him to keep his balance, he looked up at the sky. As Draco observed the birdless sky, and briefly wondering where Longbottom's pigeon was now, something lightly scraped the back of his neck. Spinning around, his knee hitting the metal leg of the chair, Draco turned to see a large collection of plants sitting over the surface where he usually ingested his morning caffeine. He took one look at the foliage, one long look in which he studied each yellow petal and green stem. One leaf out of the jungle fluttered a little in the non-existent breeze of the kitchen; Draco screamed.

"SABOTAGE!"

"Draco?" The line went dead.

_xxx_

Mrs Wiltson was wearing pink earmuffs. Harry felt that the weather did not warrant pink ear muffs. They matched the pink dressing gown with Piglet printed over the breast, and the fluffy bunny slippers that twitched and wiggled around her ankles. "Cold?" asked Harry, placing the bag of grossness on the floor. Mrs Wiltson frowned and cupped a hand around her left earmuff.

"What did you say, dear?"

For her age, she was hardly deaf, always managing to hear Harry's footfalls on the stairs. The earmuffs must have been extra padded for her not to pick up his vocalised concerns. Patting his pockets for keys, he moved a little closer to her end of the corridor and asked again. "Are you finding the weather very cold, Mrs Wiltson?"

She once again cupped her ear, cocking her head to the side and leaning forward, "What, deary?"

Smiling benignly, he moved closer yet and repeated himself. She still didn't hear. Laughing a little, Harry bravely stepped up to his neighbour's doorstep and asked, "ARE YOU COLD?"

"There's no need to shout," said Mrs Wilton, clapping her hands over the muffs for added protection to her eardrums. "Our boiler is playing up. I'm just waiting for Edmond to call the bloody electrician."

_Being a Good Samaritan never harmed anyone_. "Do you want me to take a look at it? Could have just been your pilot light."

"Oh, would you?!" she squealed, her claws grabbing a fistful of his shirt and yanking him over the threshold. Harry stumbled over the first of many black cats.

_xxx_

"DIE! Die you fucking…_weed_! DIE!"

_xxx_

"Hmm, I can't really see the problem, I'm afraid. I think you are going to have to call a guy out for this." Harry extracted his head from the cupboard and sat back on his heels, dusting his hands on the knees of his jeans. Mr Wiltson sat at the small circular kitchen table, his respirator settled at his feet like a dog made to heel, and his wooden cane tapping the floor at an irregular beat as he watched his wife flash her bruised, moulted legs at the bean straggler stooping inside his boiler.

"Aww well, you tried your best, Harry. Don't worry about it. Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Eliza…" began Mr Wiltson warningly, his cane beating a little faster. Mrs Wiltson sent a glare to her husband and smiled down at the messy black head kneeling down before her.

"No, thank you, Mrs Wiltson. I really should be getting along. I want to start planting the stuff I bought from Blooming's before Draco gets home."

Harry was dimly aware of the cane smacking the floor harder and harder behind him, and the way Mrs Wiltson made a motion of regret that caused the tie on her dressing gown to come a little looser. He stood up quickly and moved backwards, out of the vicinity of rambunctious OAPs.

Mr Wiltson watched his wife's attempts to tempt the young fellow into their bedroom, and although he didn't look fit enough to lift his respirator tank, the boy certainly had a lot of strong will. Within ten minutes of banter, the front door closed and Elizabeth came marching back in, flinging off the earmuffs with disgust. "That boy is too polite to be gay."

"He's clearly gay, Eliza. He couldn't fix the damn boiler! He probably likes the ballet."

"Oh shush. Ballet does not make you gay."

"I certainly felt like a fairy when you made me go," replied Mr Wiltson. He took a moment to inhale deeply from the translucent mask as his wife bent over into the cupboard, flashing the frills of her pink negligee, to turn the power switch back on. Lights flickered up on the display board of the heater. Elizabeth straightened up and went to stick the kettle on.

_xxx_

Harry juggled the bag around in his arms enough to lean over and spit the keys out into the vase, noting with some disappointment that his traumatic good deed for the day had taken up a lot of time. Draco was already back. Hefting the heavy bag to lean back against his chest, Harry waddled towards the kitchen. As he stepped into the room, he dropped the bag of manure in shock.

Draco's head spun round, taking in Harry's profile, and then the bag of horse deposit from his prone position atop of the kitchen table. "These…are your plants?" asked Draco, his voice making a funny squeak. Harry raised an eyebrow as Draco released his death grip from the stem of a strangulated Amaryllis, each white and red petal hanging limply.

"Whose else's would they be?"

Draco's cheeks dusted a light pink colour and Harry wanted to do dirty things in the soil that was scattered over the table. "I thought…maybe Longbottom had sent them."

"Why would Neville send us plants?" asked Harry, picking up the bag he'd dropped and settling it down on one of the chairs, then began to inspect the damage of another one of 'Draco's moments'. Draco just looked at the vegetation in confusion.

"I told Longbottom I was quitting…and…" Draco looked at the soil on his hands and blinked widely, "He didn't take it well. I thought this was an assassination attempt. Like how Jenkins and Milts were found in St Mungos with hydrangeas growing out of their noses!" Harry couldn't help but smile, and had to bite his lip to refrain from giggling. Draco scowled. "Shut up."

"You are so paranoid." Harry stepped closer and patted some dirt out of Draco's fringe, leaning in and placing a quick kiss on his lips. "It's cute."

"Malfoys aren't cute. And let's see how paranoid you become when you have a maniac herbologist as your boss!"

"It's all in your head, Draco. Cup of tea?" Harry moved to the kettle but found that one cup had already been prepared.

"That's what I was trying to do before I thought Devil's Snare was about to sprout out from between the posies and choke me to death."

Harry made them drinks while Draco picked up the mauled leaves and snapped stems, making a neat pile on the table, and waited for his beverage. "So Neville didn't take it well?"

"No, not really. I hope that Blaise doesn't flip his Galleon either, because that man can be as hysterical as an insulted hippogriff." Harry wasn't going to comment on insulted hippogriffs or monster books that ate your hand if you accidentally fell asleep at your desk. Draco took a sip of his coffee and smiled almost shyly over the rim at Harry. Harry wanted to take a picture and show it to Ron; Ron never believed Draco could be apologetic. "Those flowers wouldn't have looked good, anyway," stated Draco, taking another sip. That was about as much of a 'sorry' as Harry ever expected, it made Harry feel placated. Draco averted his eyes, and then frowned. Leaning down under the table, he emerged a second later with his mobile. Holding it to his ear, he called through the mic cautiously, "Brian, you still there?"

Harry clenched his hand around the curve of his cup, his fingertips burning against the china.

_xxx_

The moon stood tall over the trees, painting their tops silver, and Harry was sure he could hear a werewolf from the vicinity of the children's swings in the park. Harry had his head tucked under the covers, breathing deeply to warm up the air under the duvet cover, and animating the pillow he was hugging with the illusion of body heat. Draco had left swiftly through the front door at two minutes to five, and Harry had been hiding under the covers since one minute past five.

Hugging the pillow was a poor substitute for Draco's lean, hard body and in his melancholy state, Harry was attempting to get used to sleeping alone. Paul the Pillow was a poor surrogate snuggle-bunny because though the seams of the pillowcase pressed into his stomach like Draco's scant snail trail, and the thick toggle of the cushioning mimicked Draco's torso, there was little else resembling his absent boyfriend. Harry could not bury his head into the pillow's neck, because it lacked a head to support. Paul the Pillow didn't reciprocate the embrace because pillows usually were not store-bought with arms. And Harry mostly missed the legs. Draco liked to tangle his legs with Harry in a mocking karma sutra knot of knees and thighs, his cold feet digging into the back of Harry's shins in the early morning hours. Paul the Pillow, was lacking.

Keys jangled in the front door sometime in the pre-dawn hours and Harry didn't bother to look at the clock on the nightstand to know that it was past two. A few minutes of shuffling and cluttering around the kitchen emitted through the flat before artificial light from the corridor flooded into the bedroom, highlighting the inside of Harry's makeshift incubator. More shuffling proceeded and the light disappeared, then the corner of his cocoon lifted up, and with a chuckle, Draco returned Paul to his proper position at the headboard and filled the void in Harry's arms. Harry hugged to the new heat like a limpet. "It's late."

Draco went to work entwining their legs while Harry made his face comfortable in the crook of his boyfriend's neck, lightly kissing the patch of soft skin behind an exposed earlobe. "Tracy kept feeding me cake and telling me about the plans for the nursery. She's gotten herself up the duff again."

"You were eating cake?"

"Yeah. Why, what did you think I was doing?" asked Draco, pulling the blankets back over their heads. Harry tightened his hold on Draco's chest briefly.

"Not having wild sweaty sex with Brian. That's for sure."

"Harry, for the last time, he's straight. And married." Brian's wedding had been beautiful, and Harry had spent the whole ceremony keeping a restraining hand on Draco's shoulder to stop him from clawing out the bride's eyes with jealousy.

"Did you tell him you were going to university?"

"Yeah. He said he fully supported the idea but I should remember to keep fit, and not wither away in some library." Draco snorted and his whole chest wobbled Harry in his position. "As if I would ever 'wither'. Such a synonym has never been associated with a Malfoy." Harry didn't comment on that, and Draco got worried. He tilted Harry's chin up and watched salt slide down his chin. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"You're leaving me!" accused Harry angrily, tucking his head back into Draco's neck to hide his shame. _Crying like a girl, how attractive must he think I look_?

"I told you. Brian's married! He's not that kind of guy. And I'm not that kind of guy!"

Harry hiccupped hysterics. "No, you are leaving me. I don't want you to go to Wales. It's too far. You're not even gone and I miss you! And call me a Hufflepuff all you like, I don't care! It's how I feel." Harry tried to simultaneously beat Draco's chest and pull him into a tighter embrace. Frustration was like a cup left under a running tap, filling him up and overflowing.

There was a long moment of silence and then Draco laughed a little. Harry felt insulted as he was maneuvered onto his back and Draco kissed sweetly at his face, a large mocking grin gracing his features. "Silly, Potter. You really think that I am going to trot off to university and never see you? Honestly. No wonder you never went into Ravenclaw. We're going to see each other all the time. You're mine." Draco bit with blunt teeth at Harry's navel and reiterated his point. "All the time."

Harry touched the top of Draco's hair, feeling the strands run smoothly through his fingers in a way his own hair never did. Harry was not convinced; Draco was already too far gone.

_xxx_

_**A/N:**_ _So, Harry finally told Draco how he was feeling…fat load of good that did, eh?_ _Updated for TheSlytherinIcePrincess who seems to be an addict. _


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

"Loved by all, loved by all…loved by all…loved…loved by all…" Each tree sped by at a nauseating speed, but Draco refused to turn away from the journey's scenery. Only his mantra was keeping him going, because he knew that if he took one look at Harry, he would demand they turn the car around and go back.

The gap between the trunks became wider and wider as the car slowed down to the tolls of the Seven bridge. Draco was too busy trying to hold in the contents of his stomach to worry about the hot booth worker flirting Harry's pound out of his hand. They crossed over the River Seven, suspension ropes replaced the trees and Harry turned on the radio to dissipate the tension. Fifteen more minutes and they had crossed the country's watery divide and were pulling into the wild countryside of Monmouthshire. _Sheep. Sheep…cow…sheep._ The road curved through two hillside fields and as they emerged from the other side, a large complex made of archaic chalk stone buildings loomed over them. A few cars were scattered around the large front drive but most of the arrivals were suspended in the air on broomsticks, creating a multicoloured sky of fluttering robes and weightless spelled suitcases.

"Ready?" asked Harry quietly.

_No._ "Yeah."

Harry pushed the indicator on and signalled to the quarrelling married couple in the car behind that he was turning into private marshland swallows. Draco's mantra turned into a whimper.

_xxx_

Luke Levitated the heavy suitcase out of the boot of the car and watched it give a disgruntled bounce on the gravel. He shut the back of the car and kicked the rear bumper just to make sure it was closed properly. As he bent over to pick up his suitcase, another car pulled up on the drive next to him. It was sleek and blue, and the man climbing out the driver's side was sex on legs. Straightening up with suitcase in hand, Luke saw past the driver, over the roof to another man getting out the other side, at least ten times more handsome. _How lucky can I get?!_ Taking a step closer to the two men, with the intent of greeting them with suave confidence leaking out of every pore, Luke was extremely embarrassed when the lock on his suitcase gave way and spilled all over his feet, making his last step ankle deep in a scarf and made him stagger into the sexy driver.

_Hmm. Toned. Not so suave, but we're already at the touching stage. Obviously doing alright for myself._

"God, are you okay?" asked the driver, his brow worried with concern as he set Luke back on his feet. Luke looked down at his clothes, including yellow boxers, spewed out between them with embarrassment.

"Only my ego is hurt," replied Luke, bending down to shove everything back into his traitorous luggage holder. The driver dipped down and helped pick up some of the items, his hands shying away from touching the 'bewitched' boxers for social decency's sake. Once everything was back packed away, Luke murmured his appreciation. "Thanks a lot. I'm Luke by the way. Luke Leighmere."

"Harry. Harry Potter." Luke couldn't help it. His mouth gaped open and his eyes flickered. Harry's smile became a little forced.

"I didn't recognise you. You look much better than you do in the papers."

Harry laughed, "Thanks, I think." Smiling at one another, Luke felt extremely disappointed. Everyone in the whole country knew that Harry Potter was not for sale. The tanned skin looked even smoother than the monochromatic pictures in the Daily Prophet, and Luke wanted to see if it was the same shade all over.

"So. You're Harry Potter. Wherever you are," Luke said and smiled widely, "Draco Malfoy must be nearby."

Harry laughed louder this time, and his smile became more natural. He had clearly labelled Luke as a non-threatening fan of the relationship. "You make him sound like a dog." A shared snigger bonded them. "He's the one studying here."

"Oh fantastic. Can I meet him? It would be brilliant to be able to know someone on the first day. It's always nerve wracking meeting new people."

"Yeah, sure thing. Draco?"

_xxx_

Harry looked around and through the mill of new students; he could see no bright blonde head among the crowd. Frowning, Harry crouched down a little and peered into the car. His heart melted.

Turning back to Luke, who was tugging at his 'UFO: Unexplained forgetful Obliviator' shirt, he smiled at the nerdy man and said, "Rain check? Got to persuade him out of the car. It's not a sight he would want anyone to witness. What hall are you in?"

"Welwyn."

"Oh!" Harry smiled. "Draco too. We'll see you there then."

"Great. See you later."

Harry made sure that Luke was tumbling out of sight with his polka dot orange and green suitcase before ducking back into the car and prising Draco's fingers from the passenger side headrest. "Let go, Draco. You'll scratch the leather."

"Fuck the leather!"

"You wanted to come here! Stop hiding and get your stuff out of the boot!"

"I don't want to go! They're all a bunch of spazzes. Take me back home!"

Harry was very tempted to assist with this request, but knew that this talk was merely Draco's nerves and that he truly did want to attend the university. Sighing, Harry let go of Draco's wrists and said in an airy voice, "Suppose we will go home then. I'm suuuure that you're still loved by all from the marathon run. People never forget things like that. I mean, so what if it's only Muggles who love you, so what if the rest of the wizarding world just think that you went for a little jog around the pond -"

"Little jog?!"

"- So what if they are all sick of hearing about it and they actually run away from the prospect of interviewing you. So what if the minister's secretary has more qualifications than you -"

"Boot?"

"So what if you told your mother, Zabini and all your other friends that you were going to become the greatest, most knowledgeable person ever…" Harry wanted to shoot himself. "So what if Brian thinks you're a failure when you go back without a degree -"

"FAILURE?!...Get out of the fucking car, Potter. Now."

_xxx_

The line was long and Draco was annoyed. It was a bit of an anticlimax really. His blood had pounded in his ears, his heart had tried to evacuate his chest cavity, and his stomach was digesting itself because he had been too nervous that morning to eat. All that, and now he was standing in a long line. Waiting. It was like a dry orgasm.

"Do you want some ice cream?" asked Harry, shifting restlessly and looking to the small student union restaurant. People were exiting the restaurant at a fairly fast pace, licking ice creams with relish and making their ways to their new dorms. Draco felt that the line was moving purposely slow just to annoy his quenched thirst.

"Yes. A big one. With a flake. And sprinkles. And my bloody room spell topping it off."

"Be patient." Harry pressed the warmth of his fingers into Draco's hip and then moved away to the restaurant, pulling the material of his trousers tight across his arse as he rummaged around for change in his pocket.

"Hmm mmm! He is fine!"

Draco spun around and glared at the girl behind him. Her hair was a funny shade of brown, like she had been pushed into the mud and the book on _When Bad Men Get It Good_clutched against her expansive bosom. She flicked the green strand of her fringe out of her eyes and raised a questioning eyebrow. Draco sneered. "He's not available."

"Shame." She sighed. "Who's the lucky lady?"

"Lady?" repeated Draco. He blinked. "Don't you know who he is?"

"Yeah," she nodded, "Hottie number seven. I've spotted tonnes around here. Being at university is going to be so cool! So many hot guys!" Draco gave a little hysterical laugh and turned away from the social hermit. The poor girl was obviously illiterate, but he wouldn't hold it against her.

By the time Harry came back, sucking on a purple phallic ice-lolly and handing Draco a dripping sherbet ice cream, Draco was at the end of his rope. In the half an hour it took Harry to forget that Draco had ordered sprinkles, he had moved exactly four steps forward in the line. _Four! Why the fuck can't we just Alohomora the door open?!_

"Be patient," ordered Harry, placing a wet, cold, purple kiss on his neck. Draco was grossed out.

"Lucky sod." Harry turned around and studied the back cover of the book held by Little-Miss-Weirdo. She seemed fully immersed in her literature, but Harry placed another cold lipped kiss on the side of Draco's throat, making him shiver and moan a little. "Lucky bastard."

_xxx_

"This one!" Harry walked down the corridor to where Draco was bouncing. The door was plain beech wood and the number '0407' proudly proclaimed Draco to be spending the next year as the inhabitant of flat four, room seven. Pulling out his wand, which now was adorned with a new sliver registration band around the base, Draco placed the tip of the tool into the small circular indent of the wood located above the door handle. The band glowed briefly orange, then returned to its normal colour and the lock of the door gave a little 'clank'.

Sending a smirk to Harry, a little excited squeak emitted from his lips as he pushed the door ajar. Draco let out a cry of horror. "Oh my god! It's a cell!"

Harry peeked past his immobilised boyfriend and looked into the sparse uniformed bedroom. All the furniture was pressed against the enclosed walls, a desk and bed were situated opposite each other, and a tall, but extremely thin wardrobe wedged behind the door.

"Please tell me that is my closet."

"What happened to being a proud gay man?" Draco shoved his elbow in Harry's ribs and gestured to the small room.

"I'm not fucking kidding. This is serious!"

"Yes, very serious," giggled Harry, "I might have to take that trunk full of clothes back home. You'll have to wear three or four outfits for the rest of the year."

"Never!" snarled Draco, he made a flourished gesture with his wand. The combination wiggle made Harry look back into the room to see if the walls had slid out to the size of an Olympic swimming pool, but when nothing happened, he turned back to Draco who was gritting his teeth and fruitlessly repeating the wand work. The band around the base of Draco's wand was glowing not orange, but yellow; restricting the unauthorised spell. "Bastard band!" growled Draco, shaking his wand like any Muggle would when the television remote didn't work. Harry stropped the frantic spell work before Draco prodded something important.

"They probably want everyone to have the same size. Equality."

"I'm a Malfoy. Do they not know who I am?"

Harry smiled and pulled out his own wand. Draco looked at it, then smiled gratefully, leaning against Harry's warm side as he enlarged the room.

_xxx_

Draco was reclined against pillows, staring around the room with distain as he eyed up the four plain walls and tiled carpeted floor, his feet slung up on Harry's thighs who was sitting at the end of the bed, leaning against one of the horrid plain walls.

The door had been left slightly ajar and there were groups of people traipsing past the door, boxes obscuring their profiles as they shuffled into their new accommodations. No one had yet ventured into the room to introduce themselves or disturb the two men talking in undertones.

"The library's nice. Very big. Bigger than Hogwarts."

"Yes," agreed Draco, rolling his eyes and studying the expense of wall above Harry's head, wondering if a Quidditch poster of his boyfriend would look good there. Or the poster from last year's season of Harry and Oliver Wood posing shirtless, with brooms, next to one another. _Hmm._ "Because the literacy facilities are my main priority. Honestly."

Harry tucked the hem of Draco's right trouser leg into his blue socks, and then untucked it. "Some cute guys around here. See any you like?"

"They're all dorks," sighed Draco. Harry wanted to laugh, if he could have mustered it to sound sincere. "Some of them were wearing circle glasses!"

"Hey. I used to wear circular glasses!" cried Harry, outraged and ready to defend his optical stigma.

Draco looked pityingly at Harry, "I know. Thank god you met me, be grateful for small favours." He leant forward and pushed Harry's neat, rimless oblong glasses up the ridge of his nose with mock motherliness. Harry scowled.

"You held my broom hostage until I went to Specsavers!" Harry had no idea how Draco had discovered Specsavers, and came home one day to find Draco holding his Firebolt Elite above a bonfire threateningly. "I wouldn't say that's something to be grateful for."

"Knock, knock."

Draco and Harry looked round to the fashion disaster standing in the doorway. His hiding-in-comic-basements-too-long pale face and geeky grin made Draco want to curse the lad with a Chameleon Charm to give the boy some colour. "What do you want?"

Harry patted Draco's ankle to make him shift his legs, and stood up to greet the stranger. Draco watched uneasily as they shook hands with familiarity. "Draco, this is Luke."

"Luke? What's your surname?" asked Draco. He didn't like the way Luke's palm was still touching Harry's; their sweat could mingle and a hybrid droplet could fall from their joined hands and catalyse from the fibre in the carpet tiles to spout a mini Larry. Draco didn't want to be weighed down with that sort of responsibility. He stood up and walked across the small room, horrified to find it took only twenty three steps from his bed to the door.

"Leighmere," replied Luke, letting go of Harry's hand. _Good!_ He held it out to Draco. _Bad! Eugh, it's actually shiny!_ Placing his palm against Luke's, Draco made a vague up and down motion with his arm before releasing his grip and wrapping that arm around Harry's waist; discretely rubbing his hand over Harry's hip to get rid of the excess moisture.

"Leighmere," repeated Draco. N_ew money. Disgusting. _"Are you in this flat?"

"No, no." Luke smiled and leaned against the door frame, the words on his t-shirt crinkling up into illegibility from the odd angle. The corner had lifted up to reveal a patch of hip and Draco took a quick glance to admire flesh for what it was. "I'm in flat eleven. Two floors above."

"Lovely. Why are you down here then?" asked Draco bluntly. Harry shoved his elbow in deep; Luke didn't seem to notice as he was too busy staring at the cut of Harry's trousers.

"Harry said we'd catch up later. Said me and you would get to talk to one another." Luke transferred his gaze to another zipper, "It's brilliant to finally know someone. Moving is always nerve wracking isn't it?"

"Not really. We're always moving," said Draco. Harry gave an annoyed fidget at the memory and Draco wanted to sing Bambi in his ear all night long. Draco slid his fingers up the back of Harry's shirt, patting his fingertips against the warm brown skin to fake raindrops on a Thursday evening.

Luke and Harry got into a chat about the standards of hygiene that was undoubtedly to be displayed in the communal kitchen throughout the following year, while Draco contemplated the problem of the super small wardrobe and very small set of drawers built into the desk that would unlikely to contain five hundred pairs of silk and Egyptian cotton boxers. Draco's attention was brought back to the other two occupants a while later when he was addressed.

"You work for the Ministry?" laughed Luke incredulously, his voice laddered with weariness.

"Sort of. It all depends on whether the Minister will forgive some rather harsh words I had with him earlier this month."

"You work directly with the Minister?"

"Sometimes." Draco wondered where this was going.

"And now you're coming here… Aren't you like…thirty or something? A mature student."

"Thirty?" growled Draco and his nails dug into Harry's back. Harry made a funny gargle and wrapped an arm around Draco's bicep. _I'll show you 'thirty', you stupid swog-smoking junkie! _Draco was about to brain the poor nerd when he began muttering to himself. _Clearly deranged, doesn't know what he's saying. _

"Mature student, working for the Ministry…" Luke's eyes went wide with shock and he stared at Draco with horror, "You're a spy."

"Excuse me?" asked Harry, his teeth bared as if someone had screamed '_Voldemort did your mum'_ at him. He took a step forward and this time Draco had to make sure the little dweeb didn't stain the tiles.

"You're a spy for the Ministry, aren't you?"

Draco was suddenly aware of the UFO top the kid was wearing. He squinted at him, "Did you fall off your broom a lot when you were a baby?" Luke clearly wasn't listening.

Finger waving around in Draco's direction, Luke said viciously, "I'll expose you! I'll make sure everyone knows what you and the _others_ are doing! Let's see you try and report back to your precious Minister when we all know. We're watching you!"

"Nice bloke," said Draco after the moment of shock faded from the conspiracist's rapid departure from his heinous presence. Shutting the door to make sure that no other nutcases could enter and spread their delusional hatred about, Draco smirked at Harry and led him over to the plastic desk chair with intent.

_xxx_

The restraints on the windows meant that they could only be opened an impossibly small way, leaving the kitchen hot and humid from body heat and lit cookers. Everyone was chatting with the civility of newly acquainted companionship, alcohol flowing freely and an assortment of accents were mingling in the hot air.

Draco stepped into the cramped kitchen. Harry followed behind him with just-given-a-blowjob hair and looked around at his future flatmates. Conversation had died out when the kitchen door opened, and now everyone stood looking at the two men standing in the doorway. The two famous men.

"Oh my god!" gasped the girl by one of the cookers. She stared at Draco and Harry in amazement before her eyes rolled and she keeled over, her head narrowly missing the flaming hob before she got intimate with the floor.

After the commotion of the fainting Hufflepuff that Draco later found out was named Rose Zeller, or random Harry Potter Fan Club Member Three Thousand and Four, everyone began introducing themselves, though it was of little matter for Draco to do the same, as he was more well known than Merlin's pet hamster, Beppy, thanks to media propaganda.

"I'm Eleanor. Branstone. Room nine. I'm doing Psychology of Magical Artefacts." Eleanor had a nice handshake, not too clingy and wasn't covered in a thin layer of perspiration, but her choice of study outted her as a Hufflepuff straight away. _Why would anyone want to delve into the mind of an inanimate object? 'Oh look how the vase glimmers. This must be an indication of its anger at being less pretty then the stone basin'. Haha, yeah, right. _

Next to shuffle forward was a bottle of blue innocuous liquid held by a tall, fair-skinned lad whose paleness contrasted horridly with the bright yellow shirt he was wearing. Draco wondered if he could ask for a transfer because the amount of monotonous personalities that he was going to have to live with would drive him into a Hufflepuff-induced madness. "Hi, I'm Owen."

Apparently Owen was prone to stardom like Zeller, because his hand was wet and the furious blush that blotted his cheeks was unattractive to either of his idols. Draco felt Harry shift behind him as he shook hands with the flushing fanboy.

"So what course are you doing?"

"Q-Quidditch and Theoretical Sports combined." Draco studied Owen's scrawny frame and had little doubt in his mind the weed would end up doing more theory than actual Quidditch during his time at _Idris_. Everyone who shook Draco's hand, then stepped forward to shake Harry's, but Owen only managed to whimper out Harry's outstretched palm and flee over to his fellow wuss, who was still comatose at the oven.

Mild reprieve was found in a level headed ex-Ravenclaw, Stewart Ackerley. While Stewart lacked the customary glasses copyrighted by all Ravenclaws, who generally preferred to advertise their intelligence through their ocular stigmas, he held '_Idris; a History_' under his left elbow to make him frightfully reminiscent of Weasel's beaver-wife. Stewart seemed a little confused about his English origin because every statement was said with the same intonation as a question, and Draco was waiting for the guy to ask where the dingoes liked to mate this time of year. "Room eight. Ah'm doing roones, and ahrithmercee."

Draco was embarrassed when Harry asked if he played 'queerdetch'? Draco thought that Steward was more likely to be athletically inclined than into writing fan mail to _Leviosar Lee_ from the witching hour's Playboy's TV.

As Draco was being introduced to Antoinette, a purple-haired touring academic from Beauxbatons, Draco spotted salvation standing by the breakfast bar, sipping a bottle of butterbeer with the sophistication only achievable by a fellow snake. "Baddock!"

"Draco." Malcolm inclined his head and took another sip of Butterbeer before slipping around the room to stand in front of his former house prefect. "How come you are only just coming here now? Aren't you a bit late?"

"I'm broadening my horizons," smiled Draco. Harry twitched again and knocked his elbow into one of the communal fridges. "Blackmailing the Ministry can only provide so much entertainment before you think 'if I had more qualifications, I could blackmail other Ministries as well'."

"Liking." Malcolm rubbed his hand on the chest of his green shirt to make sure the condensation from the bottle had not left a faux pas on his hand, and offered his palm to his superior. Draco took a diplomatic moment of paralysis before extending his own hand to shake his housemate's; he needed to show the sprog who was still boss.

Glasses were pressed into his and Harry's hands, and chatter increased again as everyone settled into seats around the kitchen. Draco sat against Harry's chest as Harry sat against the wall, on the floor. Light fingers were trailing up and down in small patterns over his right hip and with every sip of Firewhiskey the fingers left trails of sherbet tingle on his skin. Draco was uninterested in being introduced to Orla Quirke, a freckly Irish girl he didn't know existed during his time at Hogwarts, who was under the illusion that Fresher's week was full of orgies, and while casting hopeful looks in their direction, Draco spent most of the two hours feeling the contours of Harry's left knee through his jeans instead of socialising with his new flatmates. He would answer any questions directed at him but otherwise remained in blissful understanding silence with Harry.

_xxx_

The sky was tinted orange and Draco wished his mother had come to see him on his big day. As they walked through the cold paths that wound through the various halls and building that was the student village, Draco felt a sense of mild irritation welling up inside him.

Harry was stalking a little way off from him, heading past the magnificent Quidditch pitch that Hogwarts' could hardly rival, and without a glance in that direction, was making a bratty trail towards the car.

Different types of music blared from different windows as they walked past, giving a sample of diversity on their walk, and while Draco could appreciate the myriad collection of new students all bustling about to create a sense of home in their six-hour new environment, Harry couldn't. The car clicked open with the push of an electric button and a flash of orange tail lights. Harry wrenched open the door and climbed into the driver's side. He leaned over gear stick and pulled open the glove compartment, plucking out small objects from among the user manual and insurance details forms.

Draco looked at the shrunken matchbox-sized luggage that was nestled in the dip of his hand, and then up at Harry's bowed head. Smirking, he pocketed the midget sized version of his whole winter wardrobe, and stepped up against Harry's chest. "What's the matter, Potter?"

"Nothing."

"Liar." Draco nudged one of Harry's ribs with his forefinger and pushed his forehead against the underside of Harry's jaw to make him look up. Harry's eyes were dull and glassy from unshed tears, his bottom lip was drawn in stubbornly and his jaw was set in a violent clench. Draco would have described him as adorable, but thought that was an unbecoming adjective for a partner of the Malfoy clan. "Tell me what's the matter." _As if I don't know._

"It's…" Harry huffed and tilted his head back to look at the sky instead. His Adam's apple fell up and down the column of his throat and his scratchy voice was barely audible over the noise emitting from the open windows of the halls. "I'm going to miss you so fucking much. How the hell am I supposed to lie in bed tonight without you next to me? That's our bed. We bought it together. We're supposed to sleep on it together." Harry's balled up hand causes his knuckles to be pinched white. "How do I wake up tomorrow morning to an empty flat? You're supposed to be there, Draco." Harry's words were a string of deadpanned statements, only the salty tears leaking down his cheekbones indicated Harry's deep depression. "I might die tomorrow morning when I wake up and you're not there."

Draco felt it rise inside him, welling up in his chest and he couldn't take it any longer.

He laughed.

Harry frowned but continued looking at the sky. He folded his arms against his chest and willfully looked at the orange tinted clouds.

Draco leaned up and pressed his smile to the side of Harry's wet cheek. "Good thing you're staying here until my course starts, isn't it?"

_Xxx_

TBC…

A/N: FF keeps confiscating my speech marks, sorted now though. Sorry!


End file.
